Over My Shoulder
by keepcalmfangirlon
Summary: Post-Reichenbach in which Sherlock hires Mary Morstan to take care of John and help him move on.
1. Chapter 1

_Over My Shoulder_

_A/N: This started out as a song fic to Over My Shoulder by Mika. As per usual with my writing process, it took the reins as soon as I had them on the horses (to continue a metaphor, rather horribly), and turned out to be, well, a not-a-song fic. I had to write a short story for my English class and my teacher was nice enough to let me make it a fan fic, so here we are. Post-Reichenbach in which Sherlock hires Mary Morstan to watch over John and take care of him._

From behind the tree where he was hiding, Sherlock could hear John's gasping breaths as he fought away tears, standing at the grave of his best friend. It was hard, seeing him suffer like this, but there was nothing he could do without putting John's life in danger. _Caring is not an advantage,_ Mycroft had said, and it certainly hadn't been so far. He needed focus to take down Moriarty's web, not lingering worries about how well John was moving on.

Mrs. Hudson hadn't been much comfort, though it wasn't for lack of trying. All the tea and biscuits and crap telly in the world wouldn't be enough. Molly could only do so much without it appearing suspicious; though Sherlock had needed her at the end, the three of them had never really been so close that she could spend very much time with John without it seeming odd or insincere. Mycroft wouldn't know how to effectively comfort someone if he read every book there was on the subject, and he couldn't be bothered to do that much research on something he considered useless anyway. Lestrade was the last obvious option, but without Sherlock there was really no need for John to ever see him, and after losing the best consultant they had, Scotland Yard was likely to be quite a bit busier than they were used to. And anyway, out of all of them the only one Sherlock could actually keep in contact with was Molly.

_Useless, _the detective thought. How did normal people deal with things like this? He needed someone who knew John well enough to know how to take care of him; that in itself was a short list without having everyone on it unfit for the job in one way or another. The ideal choice, of course, would be Sherlock himself, but obviously that couldn't work. Maybe someone else who still believed in him? A short list, again, and with little variance from the first one.

Maybe he could _make _someone, so to speak...introduce someone into John's life who could help him move on. No glaring contradictions rose up from this possibility; it could work if John didn't push them away. He'd have to find someone first, and convince them to help him, but he could do that. The only thing John had ever seemed to need other than Sherlock was a girlfriend, and without Sherlock and the dangers of being friends with him it was possible John could actually keep one around. There would be no risk of a date turning into being kidnapped by smugglers, now.

Pulling out his phone, new and barely used, Sherlock paused. She would have to be kind and caring, nurturing...someone who had experience taking care of people. A nurse, or someone else in the medical field would be ideal, but Sherlock needed her to be new to John, not someone who would've known him when he was following the detective around. Not someone from John's old life. That effectively eliminated everyone from the surgery. On second thought, anyone in the medical field would see him not just as someone in need of comfort, but as a patient. That wouldn't do. Other people with experience in providing comfort...teachers, social workers, veteranarians. A veteranarian would know how to deal with someone's grief at the moment of death, but not in the aftermath, and vets still fell under the medical profession. Social workers were a strong choice, but they typically had very strong and unwavering senses of ethics. It was unlikely Sherlock would be able to find one who would keep up the facade for as long as he would need to finish unraveling Moriarty's network. A teacher, then? No reasons against it.

_Need a female teacher, preferably_ _Year 2 - Year 5, in late 30s, must be nurturing but not opposed to lying, _he typed out on the stiff keys. Selecting his group of homeless network operatives, he sent the message and turned with a swish of his coat to leave the cemetery. He may not be able to fix this himself, but he would find someone who could and work through them. In the meantime, he had a lead for the first person he'd be taking out of Moriarty's web.

_A/N: So, I wrote it to stand alone as a one-shot, but if you guys like it and want me to continue, I can. Only one catch: I'll need to take it down while I work on it, and it will probably stay down until I'm completely done with it. Also, if you read my author's note up on top, I'm taking title suggestions, since this is no longer a song fic. So review and let me know! :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Okay, here goes nothing! Hopefully I'll have better luck maintaining a steady writing and updating schedule on this one than I've had in the past.**_

"Name?" Sorting through a pile of hastily scribbled notes, Sherlock located the one he was looking for. He already knew her name, anyway, not to mention what kind of dog she had _(hair from an extraordinarily long-haired dog around her ankles and on her sleeves suggesting a small dog one she often picked up so most likely a friendly disposition that ruled out a couple breeds - small dog with hair that long that texture and that colour narrowed it down to a shih tzu)_, how she had gotten here _(choice of comfortable footwear a subtle pink flush that was already fading factor in the weather - walking for not more than 15 minutes)_, and the fact that she was working in a library for the summer _(smudges of ink not the kind from a pen or from a malfunctioning printer but from touching printed pages repeatedly two papercuts one meaningless two less likely especially so close in stages of healing handles paper often reading glasses case in the top of her purse)_; he was only going through these mundane questions to subtly determine her personality, but there was no reason she should know that.

"Uh, Amaryse Cordwell," the woman in front of him answered. Fiddling with a strand of her dark auburn hair before tucking it behind one ear, her eyes glanced at the papers. She seemed a bit nervous, or maybe shy? Shy would not do. John needed someone persistent and unafraid. To be fair though, most normal people would be nervous if they'd received a phone call from a complete stranger asking them to meet somewhere to discuss a business deal. It did come off as rather shady. "We spoke on the phone," she started, then let it drop as Sherlock continued to stare at her unblinkingly.

"Amaryse. How long have you been teaching?" Another useless question. The homeless network had given him all these details already.

"10 years now. Um, is this a job offer?" She wouldn't have minded quitting from the school she was at to go and work at whichever school this man was in charge of. Having a reason to see him every day would be a great incentive to switch jobs. "You didn't really elaborate on what sort of business you wanted to disc-"

"Never mind that," the detective said, cutting her off and firing another question at her. "Do you want kids of your own?"

"Oh!" Her brown eyes widened slightly. "Erm, yes, one day, but how does that-" She was interrupted again.

"That will be all." Sherlock said, voice turning dismissive. He turned his attention back to the papers in front of him, shuffling hers to the back and restacking them neatly. Looking back up, he caught her confused expression.

"Um, wha-"

"That is all, Ms. Cordwell." Ugh. Repetition.

After that, it only became more repetitive, as he interviewed several more teachers from various schools and grade levels, becoming increasingly bored of the process. Turning away yet another woman confused by the shortness of their meeting and his directness, he sighed and massaged his temples with two fingers. If he could deduce a person's entire personality the way he could deduce their "life story," as Sebastian Wilkes had put it, this would be a lot less tedious. He wouldn't even have to confirm their question of, "Mr. Evans?" He could just turn them away and leave them to thinking they'd been stood up by the mysterious caller.

Sighing again, he ordered another coffee and pulled the next candidate from the stack. Three more hours of interviews.

"Name?" He questioned for the 36th time that day, this time to a blonde woman who had sat down across from him after confirming his (false) identity.

"Mary Morstan," she said without hesitation, "though clearly you already know that." A small smile flitted across her face as she motioned to the notes in front of him.

Sherlock paused. So far no one else had mentioned the stack of papers revealing the fact that he was clearly meeting with several candidates; by the time the tenth woman had failed to mention it, he assumed it was perhaps some sort of "etiquette" thing he'd deleted. Maybe not?

"Yes," he delivered the word slowly before continuing the line of questioning. "How long have you been teaching?"

"It's been 6 years, but I was a private tutor before that. You knew that, too, though, at least the first part. What else do you know about me?" she asked, casting a lingering glance at the top page. Sherlock set his hands over it, obscuring what he could. He didn't need to, technically, but

"Ms. Morstan." He was quiet for a beat before continuing. She certainly was not acting the way the rest of them had. "When I mentioned business on the phone, you did not immediately tell me you were happy in your current job, like several of the others. Your outfit - inexpensive but clearly trying to impress - and facial expressions when mentioning your time as a private tutor compared to when you said 6 years suggests that it's due to the decrease in salary from being privately hired to earning teacher's wages. Your records from university are quite impressive, I must say. You even acted in several plays throughout your time there."

"You're not wrong, Mr. Evans," Mary answered. "You're not offering me a position at your school, though, are you? You'd have information with you about the school, if you were, not just handwritten notes about my transcripts and CV - which I will refrain from asking you how you acquired."

Sherlock contemplated her quietly, taking a sip of his fourth nearly-cold-by-now coffee. She'd picked up on that, then. Intelligent - by no means close to himself, of course, but enough to match John, perhaps. And she was not afraid to be straightforward - John would need that, too.

"Ms. Morstan," he spoke again, setting his coffee down. He spun it slowly in his hands, his mind racing as he made a decision.

"I am not a headmaster, nor do I work at a school at all. Parents...trust you, with their children. What I am about to trust you with is even more important than anyone's children could ever be. I am willing to-" he paused delicately, "trust you, so to speak, a great sum to take care of someone very important to me." He took a second to gauge her reaction thus far before going on.

"Do you have any experience helping someone deal with the death of a loved one?"

_**A/N: Characterizing Mary may be a bit difficult for me at first as I have yet to finish watching the Robert Downey Jr version who's Mary I'm basing her off of- stick with me, I'll get the hang of it (and probably come back and edit this chapter relentlessly)! The chapters are short for now, too, until things get rolling, but the word count will pick up later. Any constructive criticism is much appreciated. :)**_


End file.
